by Rob J. Hayes
This is one of Josef's memories.
Another failure. Another Source shattered. Another two hundred and sixteen deaths, their live force stolen and channelled into the Source. These ones had mostly been terrans, but not all; the Iron Legion had found pahht and even some tahren to sacrifice on his altar of madness. Josef tries to care. He wants to care. He reaches for the guilt he knows should be there. But it isn't. He has just murdered two hundred and sixteen people, and he doesn't care. Every life he takes steals a bit of himself with it. He is becoming something else, something monstrous.
Loran is not angry; he does not get angry. But he is disappointed and that is worse. He stares at Josef, eyes icy with resentment. Josef knows what he's thinking. Loran is beginning to wonder if he had been wrong, if Josef isn't the chosen one at all. What will he do if decides Josef is useless? Will he kill him? Would that be so bad?
There are always bodies. After each failed attempt at resurrecting a Rand, the lives of two hundred and sixteen people have been snuffed out, but their corpses remain. The cells below the laboratory need to be emptied to stop those bodies rotting and spreading disease to the rest of the prisoners. And new prisoners are needed, always more prisoners needed. This is it! Josef has thought it through, planned it all out. This is his only chance to escape.
A group of terrans will soon arrive, soldiers or mercenaries. Loran hires them to take the corpses away and bring in new prisoners. It's the only time the laboratory is open to the outside world. He tried to walk out once, while the soldiers were down on the prison levels, but there are golems guarding the passageway and threw him back.
Josef sneaks away from the Iron Legion. Loran cares little where he goes when there is not an experiment to be attempted. There is no light down to the prison. No torches or lanterns. No need for them. But Josef knows the way. Years in the Pit taught him a thing or two about coping in darkness. He's memorised it, every step and wall, every door and ramp. He feels his way down, one hand trailing against the cold stone of the wall, following the contours.
Row upon row of cages are set into the very walls of the prison levels. Metal bars treated against the rigours of time set into the rock above and below. Each cell has a section of metal bars that can be swung open and locked closed.
In the darkness, Josef fumbles around the prison level until he finds an empty cell. The lock yields to him instantly. It was not left unlocked, but that doesn't matter. Josef had absorbed the Source from the sword Neverthere. He had absorbed an Ingomancy Source. The magic of manipulating metal had never been one of his attunements, but that did not matter anymore. It was now innate, a part of him whether he wanted it or not. Once inside, he pulls the door closed and uses his innate Ingomancy to fumble the lock closed. Then he lays down on the cold stone floor and centres himself, reaching for the other power inside of him. The power the Iron Legion long ago forced upon him.
Biomancy is the power of flesh, of blood and bone, of life. It can be used to heal, to bolster a person's energies, and it can be used to kill, to sap the life force from a person or nurture infections. But Josef has discovered a new use. He goes still and slows his heart and breathing both. He slows them so much, it looks as though he is entirely still. Then he uses his innate magic to force an unhealthy pallor to his skin. Then he waits.
Eventually the soldiers appear, bringing with them light and conversation and laughter. Despite the gruesome work, they are jovial, joking about which of the corpses would be eaten first. A gruff male voice claims the younger the body, the sweeter must be the taste, and says he has seen the monsters pick the youthful flesh first. Another voice counters, claiming to have seen older bodies eaten first as the younger ones keep longer. The first replies that the monsters didn't care if the rot was set in deeply. Doubt creeps into Josef's mind. It is no longer doubt as to whether his ploy would succeed, but whether he wanted it to.
"Another one here," says the gruff soldier, turning the torch to shine light into Josef's cell. He has his eyes closed, but bright light cares little for eyelids. Josef hears his cell door swing open on squealing hinges. "Poor fucker. Almost looks fresh."
"They died only yesterday." A woman's voice, with the fluid accent of a Polasian. "That crazy librarian sometimes lets them rot for days before calling us."
"Quiet!" The second male voice is urgent and fearful. "If he hears you…"
"He never comes down here," says the woman again. "Except maybe to kill a few more worthless fools."
Josef feels a strong grip around his wrist, and he's pulled along the floor. "Just make sure we lock the cells when we bring in the new ones." the gruff soldier grunts as he drags Josef over the lip of the bars. "If any of these poor fuckers get out, we'll catch hell for it. He might even throw us in here with them." The soldier and another person grip Josef by shoulder and leg and tossed him onto a heap of dead bodies lying on a cart. Then they continue down the cells and pile four more bodies on top of him before deciding that the cart is full enough for a single trip.
The soldiers push the cart through the Iron Legion's dark halls and Josef keeps still and silent. The stench of death surrounds him, gets inside his clothes and under his skin until he is certain he'll never smell anything else ever again. He feels the weight of the dead pressing down upon him and it feels right, fitting. He killed them, and now they were crushing him, pinning him down and crowding him on all sides. He feels something wet drip onto his cheek and ignores the sickening way it slowly trails down his skin. Through pure will he stops himself from reacting and remains still and silent. And then the cart passes out of the laboratory and Josef glimpses the sky. It's bright blue with wisps of white cloud. Lursa is in dominance and plainly visible despite the light of day. He feels again. Something deep in his chest. Hope. Embers he thought long since crushed under the Iron Legion's boot, spark to life once more. He can escape. He has escaped. He's free.
Josef continues to wait, though he aches to throw off the corpses pinning him down. The soldiers mention monsters a few more times and they escort the cart. Then they stop and the cart tips up. Josef tumbles out with the dead, landing in a painful, wreaking pile of splayed limbs and cold flesh. Then the soldiers retreat as quickly as they can.
His patience and will fray with each moment, but he waits until he thinks the soldiers are gone so they don't see him. He's in amongst cracked and ruined buildings, the remains of a city long since destroyed. A howl echoes around the crumbling stonework of the buildings.
Panic! Josef's concentration slips and his heart thunders in his ears. He scrambles out from underneath flaccid flesh and shoves his way free of the corpses. A second howl splits the air, answering the first. Josef finally pulls his way out of the pile of bodies and stands. The day is bright and cold, and as he stares around, he recognises the crumbling ruins around him. This is Picarr. He's standing in what remains of Cellow Street, where tailor shops once stood proudly displaying the latest fashions in their glass windows, and there was a chandler who's shop always smelled wonderfully of herbs and tallow. He had had grown up here, just a few streets away within the academy. A third howl rings through the air, closer than the last, hauntingly familiar and utterly terrifying.
Stone clacks against stone to his left and Josef spins around. A Ghoul perches atop a crumbling wall. It's the size of a large man with grey skin. It wears no clothes but has strips of cloth wrapped around bits of its arms and legs and chest. Its head is skull-like, sunken flesh around a mouth full of sharp teeth, a nose that is little more than pits in the flesh. It has no eyes and a length of yellowing cloth is wrapped around the top half of its head. It sniffs, its head jerking about as it searches. Then it focuses on Josef and opens its mouth. Thin tendrils of drool drip down from grey lips. The Ghoul goes down on all fours and pounces.
Josef runs. Ruined buildings pass as hazy blurs of grey and brown. The sounds of the Ghoul chasing him are distant things, and he barely hears them over his thumping heart. He swings to the left, ducking into the remains
of an alleyway with high, crumbling walls. The monster behind lets out an animal bark.
Another Ghoul leaps out of a window to Josef's left and he throws himself right, his shoulder slamming against the stone wall. Hands with black nails slam down where he had just been, and Josef flees. He's breathing hard, a high-pitched squeal whistling from his mouth but he can't stop it. At the end of the alleyway he turns right and sprints. He used to know these streets well enough he could navigate them with his eyes closed, but he can't remember them now. He can't think. His mind is gripped in a panic that screams run at him over and over and nothing else.
He's faster than them, leaves the Ghouls behind him. They scramble along remains of buildings, climbing walls and leaping gaps. They don't like the ground! Another Ghoul leaps up onto a wall ahead of him and Josef turns left, careening down an alleyway. He kicks a rock and trips, skinning his hands against the ground, but doesn't let it stop him. His palms sting and his toe is pulsing agony, but he throws himself forward and keeps running.
The buildings on either side are mostly intact, high walls obscure his vision. At the far end of the alley is a mound of rubble, but he can leap over it into the street beyond. Then another Ghoul drops from the wall above him, landing in front, blocking off the alley. With a scream, Josef slides to a halt and turns. He has to go back. He has to… There's a Ghoul that way too. He remembers something Eska once said. She said she didn't like Ghouls because they were too intelligent. Too cunning. The truth seeps in and Josef realises they forced him into a trap.
Josef falls to his knees and sobs. Tears running free down his cheeks. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to be torn apart and eaten. But at least the Iron Legion won't have him anymore. At least he won't be responsible for any more deaths. At least there's that.
The Ghoul at the far end of the alleyway barks out a harsh sound and charges, scuttling forward on all fours with reckless abandon. Josef watches his death coming and accepts it. There's nothing to do. Nothing he can do. The Ghoul bashes into him, knocks him down and tramples him. Hard feet kick him as it passes, talons tearing through clothing and gouging his skin. He lays there, staring up at the sky between two rooftops, waiting for his death. Waiting. Waiting. Still waiting.
"What did you think was going to happen?" The Iron Legion moves into view above Josef, staring down at him with harsh eyes. "Fool!" He reaches down and grabs Josef by the collar, hauling him to his feet with an irresistible strength.
Josef reaches out with his innate magic the way Loran has taught him to, to suck the life out of a person. He has nothing left to lose; he might as well try. Try to ride the world of the Iron Legion. His hand touches Loran's face and… Pain rushes back along the Biomantic link. He finds no well of life force inside the Iron Legion, only pain. A freezing agony that is far more death than life. He recoils, collapsing backward, but caught in the iron grip of Loran there is nowhere he could go.
"Well." There's a new, harder edge to the Iron Legion's voice. All sympathy burned away, leaving nothing but cold calculation. "That was quite revealing for both of us, wouldn't you say?"
Josef shakes his head. He can't meet Loran's gaze. He can't understand what just happened. "What are you?"
A cruel smile spreads across Loran's face. "I am the future. You are the past. More importantly, now I know just how little you can be trusted." The Iron Legion waves a hand and a portal opens in the alleyway, the space beyond it is dark with flickering yellow light. Loran throws him through the portal, and he crashes to a heap against cold stone floor. He's back in the laboratory, down in the prison levels once more. The Iron Legion follows him through the portal and snaps it shut behind them. A few paces away, the soldiers wait, lanterns providing the only light in the darkness. They're caught between fleeing and grovelling, but Loran pays them no mind.
"Do you remember the rules, Yenhelm?" There's anger in the Iron Legion's voice now, and an odd urgency. "What would happen if you resisted or tried to escape. I promised people would die. I promised you would kill them."
Josef shakes his head, already dreading what was about to happen and unable to find his voice. He doesn't want to kill anyone. He doesn't want to lose any more of himself.
"Well a promise is a promise." The Iron Legion reaches out a hand and a nearby prison door rips open, the lock protesting for only a moment before giving. A man lays inside the cell, gaunt and malnourished, but still alive. A purple haze forms underneath the man and he's lifted and carried through the cell door by the Iron Legion's Kinemancy. Loran drops him before Josef. "Do it, Yenhelm."
Josef shakes his head again, tears rolling down his cheeks. He's scared and tired and… and helpless. He can't do it. He can't fight the Iron Legion anymore.
"Last chance, Yenhelm. Kill him. Or I will. Then I'll kill ten others and we'll start again. Their lives mean nothing to me, I can always find more." There's no lie to his words. No bluff or bravado. The Iron Legion will do it. He'll kill hundreds to force Josef's compliance.
Josef reaches out and puts a hand on the man's cheek. His flesh is clammy to the touch, dirt smeared and sunken, but still he looks up at Josef with pleading eyes. It's the only way. To save others. To save the lives of ten other people, Josef has to do it. He has to kill once more. He weeps as sucks the life out of the man and then lets the corpse drop to the stone floor. A part of himself was torn out, he felt it. Even as he took the life force of this man, he felt a part of his soul tear free and vanish.
"Excellent," the Iron Legion says. Josef collapses onto his knees and sobs. For the life he has taken. For the part of himself he has lost. He weeps. "I have to go. I may be gone for a while and you've proven yourself untrustworthy, Yenhelm. So…" Loran again grabs hold of Josef's collar and drags him towards the vacated cell, tossing him inside as though it took no effort at all. With a wave of his hand the cell door twists and fuses together so no key could open it. "Your privilege of freedom is revoked. I'll make certain Inran remembers to feed you occasionally. You can wait here until I return."
With that, the Iron Legion turns to the nearby soldiers. "What are you doing? Continue. These cells won't fill themselves." Loran waves his hand again and tears open a portal, stepping through it quickly and letting it snap shut behind him.
Chapter 22
Just five days after we set up camp, the Terrelan army appeared on the horizon. Thousands of soldiers marching in ranks, mounted troops on trei birds, Sourcerers flying the glowing blue banners of the Terrelan Magic Guild. It was a force to be reckoned with, and no mistake. They knew what they were getting themselves into, their scouts had been watching us for the better part of a day, and they could see the bulk of the army I had summoned across from the Other world. Yet still they came. I will take nothing away from them for that, it must have taken quite a bit of courage to march against such monsters as I controlled.
Hardt still wouldn't talk to me, but I could see the worry on his face. These were his people arrayed against us. It doesn't take much to make a person question whether they are on the right side of a conflict. His position was clear, he wanted no part of the fight, and only stayed beside me out of loyalty. It is strange to think that he remained so loyal yet refused to speak a word to me. I could have used his counsel. Perhaps with it, I might have avoided what happened next. I would wager most tragedies could be avoided by listening to the words of those who preach pacifism. Unfortunately, they tend to preach it at a much lower volume than those who preach war.
My army gathered the night before in its full force. Eight Yurthammers, almost one hundred Khark Hounds, twenty-two Hellions, and a lumbering beast as tall as a house and coated in whipping tendrils of bone dripping with venom. I had never before seen that last monster and had no name for it at the time. I named it a Horain as some sort of misguided tribute to my fallen friend. I think Horralain would have laughed to know I named a monster after him, but then his ghost rarely visited me anymore. In sheer numbers we were dwarfed by the size of the Terrelan army, but what I
had summoned was an army that should have taken twenty Impomancers. My monsters were more than a match for the paltry force the Emperor sent against me. Or so I believed. Pride has always been one of my failings.
Flags went up on the other side of the grassy plain upon which we gathered. The Emperor wanted to talk. I was in no mood for words, but I wanted to see who was responsible for the fall of Orran. The man who had signed the order to send me into the Pit. The fucking bastard who had sent Prena Neralis to murder me. I wanted to look him in the eyes as I told him he was going to die for all the atrocities he had committed. So, I raised a flag of my own, a strip of white cloth attached to a stick, and walked onward. Imiko joined me, but Hardt stayed behind with the monsters. Maybe because he still refused to talk to me, or maybe because he believed that the little thief would provide me greater stability than he could. Hardt has always had an annoying habit of being right.
I'd never been in any sort of parley before. I fought for Orran in the war, but I was nothing more than a weapon, pointed and told to kill. Things were different for those in charge, there were rules to these sorts of things, and I didn't know them.
"So many of them," Imiko said, her voice quiet with awe. "I don't like this."
"Then leave." The words came out harsher than I intended, and I didn't slow my stride. Still, Imiko kept up with me with ease, her longer legs easily matching my pace.
Three men on trei birds stopped before us, one still holding a white flag. They did not dismount. I passed my own flag to Imiko and met them with my usual bravado.